"Come on, that's not fair. It was ages ago. Don't you ever give up a grudge Alle? You're going to wrinkle early like that and you'll be pure as the newly fallen snow forever." It wasn't that Badou really wanted ice-cream. His interest in desserts was general on par with their nicotine content, but whining at Alle - and apparently annoying the crap out of him - was rapidly becoming as second-nature as whining at Haine. Also it was dangerously fun.

Badou's grin matched Schuldig's almost perfectly. "We could probably bring the restaurant down right now for kicks," Vault the counter, do a little magic with hot oil and fire before the nurses got enough hands in to stop them... Badou frowned contemplatively and leaned back against the counter. "But we'd get a really firm slap on the wrist and no ice-cream, you know?"

He watched Arty take charge at the counter but his back was facing the kid at the register and he didn't care particularly what was going on there. "By the way I'm not calling you Don Fowl, Arty. It makes you sound like the mafia head a chicken farm. Or a bunch of cocks in this case," Badou paused. "...On second thought."